


Greater Reichenbach

by Solitaryleh



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: After Events in FInal Problem, Can be read as Moriarty/Holmes, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-22 13:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22716541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solitaryleh/pseuds/Solitaryleh
Summary: "Deep down in that dreadful caldron of swirling water and seething foam, will lie for all time the most dangerous criminal and the foremost champion of the law of their generation."
Kudos: 5





	Greater Reichenbach

Deep in the cauldron of water, the professor and the young detective lies, hand in hand to the watery grave they themselves have created. I felt the cold hands of his beneath those leather gloves. The scarred yet delicate musician fingers he has which I haven't properly complimented in that brief meeting back in Baker street. The trip to the underworld is a very slow process compared to solving complex formulas in front of my pupils. 

Moran has failed me. 

Everyone has failed me.

My heart has stopped beating once I have hit the cold water of Reichenbach, I know he also felt it. The half-human screams of that fearful Falls has halted to a deafening silent. Everything seemed to stand still between Moriarty and Holmes; the bubbles are suspended in air and comparable to those ornaments and baubles that the children hung on Christmas trees. The air feel sluggish and cold to the touch. My heart has long ago stopped beating, my lungs stopped supplying air to every organ in my body yet I can see, touch, smell, and talk. My sense organs seems to be functioning properly. My feet felt no solid object to step on so I realized that I was suspended in thin air yet the difference is I am underwater and my movements are sluggish. If this is what occurs when one is dying or waiting for the train to the afterlife, then it is done in amusing and fashionable manner.

My eyes have rested on the figure of the man just away from breadth of my hair. He is no different from me, I have forgotten that I am not looking at a mirror of myself but instead the facade is no other than Sherlock Holmes. His eyes are still close and seems not aware of our current state. He wouldn't be dead yet. Stray strands of his hair covers the pale complexion of the detective, his eyes that are closed, I remember them even in my final moments. Same eyes that pierce through my soul in that fated meeting back in baker street quarters, they cut the thick cloak of lies and deception of man. For once I admit I too was cut by his sharp blade called Truth. His outward appearance is similar to me but they are less relevant to the wonderful and beautiful mind of this man who is the only one who is in the same plane as mine. Indeed, is he not the one who unravels the intricate web of crime I have spun? He is the only who has the courage and patient of a hound to seize the bigger fish. Looking him in front of me, Holmes more or less reminds me of myself. He knows the moves and the rules of the Game we both adore to play. Why did he also killed himself to get rid of me? Does he know that there is another way on how our fight will end? Obviously I am stronger and more cunning than the young man yet he has thought of another way by sacrificing himself and dragging me to the bottom of that dreaded Reichenbach. He has claimed that his career will end as soon as he got rid of me. Retiring in the country and tending to his bees is the dream he desired after he has cut the loose end of my Web. Yet, he has given up his life in beekeeping and instead chosen to die with me in this watery grave. Perhaps, realizing that now he has killed me, the only stimulant other than his needles, he has also ended the only one that keeps his stale life meaningful. I have made Holmes’ existence full of mysteries for him to unravel to his heart’s content. He too has given me the intellectual treat I crave for years in The Firm. It is a treat until he has torn down my empire until I have nothing and only the noose awaits for me at the end of the road. Because of this I have to finish the Game and to corner him in Meiringen yet I failed. Everyone failed me even Sherlock Holmes himself.

_By killing me, he has also killed himself._

_Sherlock Holmes is nothing without James Moriarty._

If this is how I spend my afterlife, so be it. I am no religious man and instead a heretic one but this perpetual place seems to me the first circle of Hell. My thoughts disappears as the detective finally open his eyes.

“They say that the afterlife is somewhere up there with open arms of Saint Peter or, a more fitting in a gentleman such as you, a boiling cauldron of lava. Well, it seems to be afterlife is but a sterile waiting-room. Do you consider yourself a good man, professor?” Holmes’ voice echoes I sense a hint of sarcasm in his last remark, seeing I am in the same place as he.

His eyes contrast the dim waters of Reichenbach; reeling every second that has eclipses before we both has stranded in this watery cage.

“The principle of what is good and what is diabolical does not apply to us, dear Holmes. Do I consider myself a good man? No. Do I consider myself as evil? No but this how I am branded so be it. Yet, compare to you my hands are more bloody and filthy. You have taken the law in your hands haven’t you?”

I heard a clicking sound in his mouth.

“Then this place is for special individuals”

I nod. Very well then, we shall spend the eternity as a punishment for our deeds.

“Yet” Holmes continued. “Perhaps intuition or even galvanism, I felt I shall not stay for too long in this prison”

I did not reply.

“You are cold, professor” He motioned to my clothes which are soaked. There is a pause while he quietly took off his inverness coat before passing it to me. I accepted this gesture of kindness even if I sensed that this is out of malice.

“Obviously you won’t be staying for too long in this place, detective. The world hungers for its victor. Its hero. _Villains_ , which I have every reason to believe that I shall be named one, has no place in the eyes of the public reader. Soon forgotten and only _you_ will left a legacy that every children and adults alike will only remember for the days to come. Yet every hero has a villain and he is no hero if there is no villain”

Holmes took a deep drag from his air-pipe before continuing again. “So you have perceived it”

“Indeed, we are but are invention of a man. Even your Boswell is one. Is there any real individual who can equal your intellect? None. Even I do not have anyone which I deem equal except for the same man in this room”

There is curiosity in asking how he came to this conclusion yet I decided against it.

“I can hear the cries. Can you also hear it, professor? You should be, they are deafening. I was awaken by their constant yapping at my ears” Perhaps Holmes is bluffing by suddenly raising his voice but I decided to play along with him.

“I do not. Listen to them, what do they say?”

“They are suffering. They are calling my name in hundred…no in thousands…my mistake, in million voices” His lips became paler and paler as he spoke.

“Those are the voices of your readers” I replied, without any emotion. “Go. Do not linger any longer in my grave”

From what I see, Holmes’ dried clothes and his healthy complexion compared to mine who is as pale as a corpse, I know that the world wouldn’t let its champion rotting at the bottom of Reichenbach. Holmes can hear those voice and I do not. My task as being the plot device to end the never-ending adventures of the detective is unsuccessful. Even if I succeed I still be in the same place and continue to decay. My fate is cruel but I accept this with a heavy heart, I am the antagonist afterall.

“I do not want to leave you” His facial expression is difficult to read.

“Holmes, even if you stay here and join me in this watery grave we choose eventually your readers will force their way and reel you to the surface world. Do not think of me”

The detective once again took a drag from his pipe before opening his mouth. “The Game will be finished if I do so. I cannot save you, we are in the hands of our god”

I shook my head and bitterly sneer at his direction.

“You are a selfish beast. You only care for your stimulant and not for Moriarty. You already know that your life once again will be excruciating dull. That is my last curse that I and our god will give to you. Not only has you robbed me of my career, you have tortured your god and eventually influenced him. No, you do not deserve anything. You shall suffer with common place crimes. You shall know how life is without me, Sherlock Holmes”

My words has impacted greatly to the great detective. His eyes darts to mine and then eventually to the coat he has offered to me. If I truly be left here to rot then the least I can do is to remind Holmes how his existence will be unbearable now that the only one who equals him is now dead and there is nothing that he can do to resurrect James Moriarty.

Slowly the professor lift his hand and rested on the detective’s shivering shoulder. I looked at him for the one last time and the fragrance of the metallic earth lingers to my nose, the last odor that I smelled before I died. I can hear the half-human cries of the Falls roaring once again in my ears. I can almost see the reflection of the Colonel in his emerald eyes. I have read and perceive his Fate.

_Au revoir, Sherlock Holmes_


End file.
